


D’Artagnan‘s pillow.

by RitaMarx



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Contains Fluff, Gen, No -- I mean fluff of the real kind, What was that thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RitaMarx/pseuds/RitaMarx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D’Artagnan complains about his travelling cloak not making for a soft pillow.  One shot.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D’Artagnan‘s pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot with fluff in more ways than one. =;) 
> 
> My generic disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don’t own it. If you don’t recognize it, I probably do own it. Not making any $$$ off this.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # 

The night promised to be a comfortable one as the Inseparables settled down around their campfire. They each spread their bedrolls on the ground and rolled up their travelling cloaks under their heads. 

“Oi! Settle down there, will ya, lad?” Porthos huffed. “Aramis needs his beauty sleep and so do I.” 

“I can’t help it. I just can’t get comfortable. You would think that as well-worn as this cloak is, it would make for a soft pillow. But nnooo,” D’Artagnan grumbles. “It’s hard as a rock.” 

D’Artagnan, again, for the umpteenth time (his friends have long lost count by now) he shakes out his cloak and rolls up the garment. 

“Maybe you would like a nice feather pillow from the garrison?” Porthos asks sarcastically. “I’m sure Aramis has one he could loan you.” 

Aramis lifts his hat to glare at both men before placing it back down over his eyes. 

“Any lump of a pillow from the garrison would far softer than this,” D’Artagnan griped. 

“D’Artagnan, you’ve used that cloak for a pillow countless times now,” Athos pointed out. 

“Well tonight, it’s a rock.” He pounded the bunched up roll several more times, determined to force some softness and comfort into it. 

Finally, after much tossing and turning, and a serious threat to tie him up, the young Musketeer’s eyes begin to droop. 

Morning, as usual came far too swiftly. 

Slowly, D’Artagnan began to come to his senses after a night filled with rather curious dream of a giant rabbit chasing him. 

Was that snickering he heard? Knowing how mischievous / troublesome his brothers could be he kept perfectly still and controlled his breath to mimic sleep. This was a new skill that had helped him escape trouble many a time since meeting the Musketeers. He listened to access the situation. What were they up to this time? He wondered. 

Pretending to still be asleep, he rolled over to face the campfire and snuggled deeper into his pillow. 

More snickering. 

Something tickled his nose. He couldn’t help but wiggle it. Somehow, it seemed his travelling cloak had gotten much softer during the night. He sighed for the comfort of a soft pillow beneath his cheek. 

More snickering. More tickling. 

Finally, his curiosity won out. He had to know what all the snickering was about. He opened one eye just a sliver and swept the campsite. He saw nothing amiss. 

“Looks like you found yourself a nice, soft pillow there, D’Artagnan,” Porthos said cheerfully. 

“Yeah, where can I get one?” Aramis blithely inquired. 

More tickling as his pillow shifted out from under his head and his cheek smacked the ground. 

D’Artagnan raised his head to rub the dirt off the side of his face. 

He opened his eyes and stared into two dark, angry eyes glaring at him. They stared at him with such animosity that the young Musketeer shivered as he felt a cold shiver skitter down his spine. He held his breath as he watched the finely groomed whiskers bob up and down in sheer, yet retrained, fury. 

“Choose your battles carefully, D’Artagnan,” Athos counseled. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, the young Gascon slowly raised his head. Carefully, he put his hands on the ground to push himself up. He glared back at his opponent. The message was clear. The challenge was met. 

His declared adversary turned to face him straight on, face to face. 

A stare-off ensued for several heartbeats as no one moved. No one dared breathe. 

After what seemed an eternity, his opponent saw the wisdom of backing down and conceding the fight to the young Musketeer. He turned swiftly and ran off. 

The last the Musketeers saw of him was a white, fluffy cottontail crashing through the underbrush as the rabbit vanished.


End file.
